Making Space for New Chapters: Grief, Growth, and the Hard Things
Life is full of twists and turns, and right now, mine feels like an emotional kaleidoscope.
Exciting, scary, happy, and sad, all at once.
And that’s okay.
That’s life.
My boyfriend and I are taking a big step forward, merging our lives, and part of that process involves clearing space for him in my home. This home has always been mine, but it was originally intended to be ours—a home I shared with my late fiancé, John. We filled it with things we both loved and made it our happy place. But as John’s addiction worsened and eventually took him from me, that happy home became tainted by painful reminders of a life that could have been but never got to be.
If you’ve experienced grief, you know the emotional weight that physical objects can carry. They’re not just things; they’re symbols of a life, a person, or a moment in time. For me, these items ended up in what I call “the dreaded totes”—plastic bins filled with objects I couldn’t bear to look at but also couldn’t throw away. Many of those totes still live in my basement, untouched but heavy with memory.
Now, as my current boyfriend’s belongings start to appear throughout the house, I’m navigating a delicate balancing act. He has been incredibly kind, considerate, and cautious with my heart, understanding that while this is what I want, my heart is still fragile. This isn’t just a new chapter for me; it’s an entirely new book. It’s exciting to envision the life we’re building together, but it’s also scary and painful to feel myself move further away from the life I once built here with John. Grief is a confusing thing, but I’ve learned that grief and joy can coexist if you’re willing to put in the work.
Yesterday, I did something hard. I tackled another “doom closet” in my house. ADHDers might recognize this term—a place where clutter and forgotten items accumulate, becoming overwhelming over time. My home has several of these “doom closets,” and I’m determined to reclaim them, to take back my space and make it a happy home again. As I sorted through the clutter, I came across something that stopped me in my tracks: a box of Save the Dates for my wedding that never was.
These invitations were something I was so proud of. John was a huge Giants football fan, so I designed them to look like game tickets, complete with the tagline “Get Ready for Game Day!” The section, row, and seat numbers cleverly made up the date of our wedding. Even the return address labels featured a custom drawing of our two cats. They were fun, creative, and perfectly “us.” Finding that box was like a gut punch. I had to make a choice: do I continue to hoard this box of unused invitations, or do I take the hard step of letting them go?
I found a compromise. Not everything in life has to be black and white. I saved one Save the Date card and one envelope as keepsakes. The rest, I threw away. It wasn’t easy. It felt like I was throwing away a piece of the life we had planned together. But in reality, I wasn’t discarding the person, the memories, or the love we shared. I was taking back my power—refusing to let my grief dictate my life or hold me back.
That simple act of throwing away those invitations felt liberating. It was a tangible sign of growth, perseverance, and progress. It reminded me of how far I’ve come in my grief journey. Yesterday’s hard decision makes today easier, makes tomorrow brighter, and creates room for the life I’m building now. It’s a step toward giving my boyfriend the space he deserves in our home, a space that’s filled with care, comfort, and hope for the future.
Grief is complicated. It ebbs and flows, sometimes catching you off guard. But I’m learning that I don’t have to be a prisoner to it. I can honor my past while embracing my future. And in doing so, I’m not just clearing space in my home—I’m clearing space in my heart for what comes next.
